Under The Boardwalk. Amie Denman
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of the peninsula for forty years. Carousel music put a spring in her step and strengthened her hopes for a great season.
A bicycle bell jingled right behind her, cutting into “In the Good Old Summertime” tinkling from the carousel organ.
“Ride?” Jack asked.
He pulled in front of her on the red tandem bicycle. Although early in the summer, he already had a nice tan. His dark hair waved back from his forehead, his deep brown eyes less serious than usual.
Gus stopped on the bright white concrete, which was baking in the afternoon sun.
The ride was tempting. The Wonderful West was a good hike from the front entrance, and her hair was already stuck to the back of her neck. But the shade trees were just ahead. She could make a break for them and resist the charming and enigmatic Jack—the man who made her heart race and her blood boil.
“Depends on where you’re going,” she said in an attempt to stall and escape gracefully.
“Canada,” he answered. “It’s just across the lake.”
“I figured. Are you a decent driver? How’s your safety record on this thing?”
Jack planted both feet, balancing the bike between his long legs. Gus felt the heat even more. Why did the company owner and general enigma have to be so attractive?
“See this scar?” he asked, pointing at a small white line on his chin. “That was from my first bike accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-five. I’ve gotten more careful since then.”
“I see,” she said. “I’m considering your risky offer.”
“Last Chance.”
“I’m thinking.”
“No, I mean, I assume you’re headed for your Last Chance bakery. You might as well get on and save your energy for opening day. I’m hoping for fifteen thousand people. At least.”
At the thought of baking fifteen thousand cookies, Gus surrendered and swung her leg over the seat in back. She would need all her energy if his prediction came true. From the backseat, her view was all broad shoulders and tailored suit. Why didn’t he get heatstroke in those suits?
“I can’t see anything from back here,” she said.
“Don’t need to. You can’t steer, either.”
Before she could protest, the bike started rolling. Gus gripped the handlebar and pedaled, trying to accustom herself to being totally at someone else’s mercy. She focused on the shops, restaurants and trees whizzing by. She attempted to summon carefree childhood memories of racing on a bike, the wind in her hair. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to steer that bike like kids wanted to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.
Especially when Jack careened much too close to a tree. And when he skirted the edge of a curb in front of the HoneyBee kiddie coaster. He nearly crashed into an oncoming bike, but swept to the side at the last second and gave Gus only a brief glimpse of the near disaster.
The man was a maniac on a bike.
“I want off,” she said.
“Trust me. I could do this with my eyes closed.”
“I think you are.”
He finally stopped in front of her Western-themed bakery sandwiched between the shooting gallery and the train tracks. She stepped off the bike, straightened her apron and admired her new sign as she tried to regain her equilibrium. The sign was like the one at the Midway Bakery, but Aunt Augusta’s Last Chance Bakery was spelled out in neon ropes and the cookie wore a cowboy hat.
“Nice,” Jack commented. “You’re breathing new life into these bakeries.”
He planted his feet again. Gus thought for a moment he’d put down the kickstand and invite himself in. Instead he sat and looked at her as if he were at a loss. He must have a million things to do with only days until the season started. Just like she did.
“Work to do,” she said, unable to restrain a smile.
He nodded. “Want me to pick you up later? It gets pretty lonely on this bike by myself.”
“I think I’ll take the train,” she said, sounding much more flirtatious than she wanted to.
“Too dangerous. We’re training new engineers before the season starts.”
Gus laughed and then sobered quickly, thinking of how late she’d be here tonight and how she’d have to struggle all summer to make a profit. She’d be baking and decorating faster than the spinning rides in Kiddieland.
Gus couldn’t invite any kind of a friendship with Jack Hamilton—too many people depended on her commitment and hard work. And her current loyalty was to the other vendors. Even after only a few weeks, they were starting to feel like family.
“You’re a busy man, I hear. Too busy to be bothered with lease vendors like me.”
The smile creasing his face and lighting his eyes flashed out like a switched-off bulb. Gus felt a stab of guilt at her bitter words. But they were the truth.
She walked away and shoved through the swinging saloon-style doors into her bakery.
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